The Mean 2: Embracing the Mean
by WriterJC
Summary: KCC deals with a situation shortly after Peter takes the brands. Story 2 of the Mean Series


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Embracing the Mean

By Writer JC

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A man's greatest fear, can be born of his greatest joy  
The greatest pleasure, secured from the greatest pain   
Such is the life and lot of a man.   
Such is the balance we must all embrace  
-Kwai Chang Caine, a future story 

Kwai Chang Caine settled onto the lakeside bench, and gazed across the darkened waters. A gentle breeze kicked up, creating cascading ripples across the liquid surface. It touched at the surrounding trees and shrubs, played at the edges of the lone priest's longish gray hair. 

He closed his eyes, and his mind flashed to the image of a similar breeze blowing at the edges of another's hair. Darker, shorter, thicker hair. 

He allowed the living memory to flood him, filling him with the vivid remembrance of the soft curling mass beneath his fingers, the feel of his only son in his embrace, in his mind, in his heart. 

He remembered the very first time, so long ago, that wonderful day when he discovered the secret that his beloved Laura had been waiting for just the right moment to share with him. From that time forward, he held the child in his heart. 

And then the stormy night when Peter came kicking and screaming into the world. Despite a deepening knowledge of the healing arts, and the workings of human physiology, Kwai Chang had gone weak in the knees at the rush of emotion that gripped him. A child, a perfect baby boy, with a head full of dark curling hair and the lungs of a tiger, was born. His own flesh and blood, a physical manifestation of the love between he and the woman to whom he had pledged his life. 

The bundle who was Peter wriggled in his father's arms and attempted to focus wide hazel eyes on him. The screaming stopped, and an expression of wonder and curiosity settled over the newborn features. Kwai Chang returned the look with unabashed love and dropped a gentle kiss on the tiny forehead, before delivering the child into the waiting arms of its mother. Despite the shortness of the encounter, everything changed. In the moment of that first embrace, a bond was forged into Kwai Chang's very being. A first, never to be forgotten. 

Caine also remembered the lasts. The last time he smelled the scent of his son's hair, his after shave. The last time they embraced. The day that, of necessity, he said goodbye. The day that Peter truly became Shaolin. 

Words could not describe the joy that filled his heart after Peter took the brands, nor the regret at having to part from him so soon after. 

The Ancient had produced the photograph, and though Caine sensed that there was much to the older man's decision to give it to him on that day, he had not questioned because alongside the joy and the regret was the fear of stifling and overshadowing his son's new abilities.

Many times he had desired to return, to reach out mentally to determine how his son was truly faring. But Peter would be able to sense and identify even the slightest touch instantly. And if the young man was to stand alone, he needed to know that it was within his power to do so. His responsibility as father was to wait until his son was ready and reached out to him of his own accord. 

There were moments though when patience was difficult. The task that the Ancient had set him upon could not fully distract him, especially during the times when he caught wisps of his son's insecurities and confusion. He wanted nothing more than to be there to help him. To make his problems go away. But he knew better. Somewhere along the line, beyond his notice and without his consent, things had changed. The child, the boy that he so loved had grown up -- in more ways than one. The boy had become a man. The man had become Caine the priest. And Caine the father, though proud, was also saddened. This was a step in the young Shaolin's life that he could not take with him. 

Opening his eyes, he gazed again across the waters. He felt closer to Peter here, in the area so reminiscent of his son's secret place. But the air was cold, the last gasp of winter asserting itself. It would not be wise to remain all night. It was time to find shelter. 

"I miss you, my son," he whispered into the darkness. As he stood and straightened the satchel, he sensed a light brush against his mind as nebulous and yet as tangible as the passing breeze. It was tinged with satisfaction and a newfound edge of understanding and balance. 

Caine smiled. The young man was beginning to embrace his future. His son, the priest, was finding his way. 

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End file.
